


Water

by abigail89



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Friendship, Gen, cop buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's in the hospital again. Dorian comes by to encourage him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://almosthumantv.livejournal.com/profile)[**almosthumantv**](http://almosthumantv.livejournal.com/)'s [20 minute fic challenge](http://almosthumantv.livejournal.com/44219.html). This actually took a little more than 20 minutes, but hey, I was on a roll!

"You have a visitor, Mr. Kennex," the young nurse says cheerily.

John lifts his head. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do I have a visitor?"

She gives him that irritating mom-smile, the one everyone's been giving him since he emerged out of the haze of drugs from surgery. Surgery. More surgery. _I gotta get in another line of work._ It's been a reoccurring thought since that moment, but for the life of him, he can't think of a goddamn thing that he'd enjoy doing. Catching bad guys, yeah, that's what he likes.

It's just a damn shame the bad guys keep shooting him.

"John."

And there he is, standing in the doorway, holding a bunch of flowers, like he's done it all his life--except he hasn't really had a life, has he, Dorian? He was conceived in a computer program, built on an assembly line, programmed, charged up, turned on. It sometimes weirds him out to think Dorian has an on-off switch, like a flashlight or a phone or....well, anything that isn't _organic_.

"Hey," John says. "How are you?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?" Dorian enters the room slowly, his eyes looking all around, cataloging the frightening number of machines hooked up to John and evaluating their read-outs. "Hear you had to have another surgery."

"Yeah. Seems the bullet spray did a number on my shoulder. But hey, I got a new shoulder socket out of the deal," John says sardonically. "Titanium. Probably last longer than I will."

"It won't. Artificial joints usually last only twenty years or so. You'll have to have a new one."

"Sure I'm going to last beyond twenty years, eh?" John tries to pull himself up in the bed by his abs, but between the meds, the painkillers, and being prone for a week, he's out of shape and falls back towards the bed.

Dorian is there to catch him. "You probably shouldn't be doing that. Let me raise the head of the bed for you." He finds the power button that lifts the top of the bed. "That should make it easier for you to drink water, which your nurse says you haven't been doing enough of."

"It doesn't have any bourbon in it," John says. He coughs, and grabs his abdomen as he does. Dorian takes a pillow from the chair beside the bed and presses it gently into him. "Thanks." He coughs some more, grateful for the steady pressure to help support his shitty abdominal muscles. "Can't wait to be able to work out so I can cough on my own."

Dorian moves the flowers to the chest by the window and sits in a chair. "Captain Maldonado says you're going to be on medical leave for the next six weeks. You should probably wait at least that long before you start exercising again." He hands John the cup with a bent straw in it. "Drink."

John takes it, considers being a contrary bastard by not drinking, but takes a sip because, damn, he really is thirsty. "I'll think about it."

"Probably should listen to her. She's pretty smart."

Truth is, Dorian's right. Sandra is one of the smartest and savviest people he's ever had the honor of serving with. She's good people, tough yet fair. And she knows exactly when to kick his ass and what to say to keep him from losing all hope. Without her support he would've never returned to the police force after the ambush that took his leg. That nearly took his life. "That she is," he says. "I'm going to have to do something to support all this metal I'm toting around now. My leg, my shoulder--I'm going to be more like you when I retire if I keep this up."

Dorian gives him a very human shrug and a smile. "Quite possibly. You do have a knack for attracting attention and bullets."

His mind wanders back to the latest encounter with InSyndicate. Electronic bullets. Pulse charge. A bomb that threw off enough power to take out a skyscraper. Shouts. Brilliant discharge light. Dorian shouting at him. Blue fluid leaking from---

"Hey, you were shot, too," he says. "How are you doing?"

Dorian's eyes light up. "Thanks for asking. Yes, I spent quite a bit of time with the engineering team. Rudy was concerned my sub-processor had been irreparably damaged. But he's creative. He found a way. I'm good as new. Even better. I got an upgraded chest plate." He puts his fist on his chest. "A new alloy Cal Tech is using for the Mars expedition. I'm honored to be the first android to use it."

"Well, that's great," John says. "Really. I hope it protects you better."

Five years ago, this whole conversation would've been really weird. But now, well, this is reality, his reality. Having this conversation with a robot, _his_ robot. But not really. Dorian's his partner, too.

They fall silent and their attention turns to the baseball game that's playing, muted, on the wall panel. "Turn it up, John," Dorian says. "The Reds are playing very well this season."

John hits the sound button on his bed and the roar of the crowd comes through the speakers. _Homerun by Baxter! The Reds are up by two. And here comes James, the manager of the Sox. Seems he wants to have a word with his pitcher._

They settle in to watch the game. The hospital churns on outside the door. Dorian fills John's cup again, and John drinks the water. Without bourbon. Without complaint.  



End file.
